I'll Return To You
by Free-Imagination318
Summary: AU - Reincarnation/Sleeping Beauty Elements. Movieverse. Thorin/Thranduil. Before Thorin dies, he makes a promise to Thranduil that he will return. And a King never breaks his promise.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything by J. R. R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson.

AN NOTES: This piece is written in the hopes to cure the writers bloke which has been following me for most of the year, for those who have read my other works, I can promise that I will finish them in due time, I just can't tell you how long that will be.

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"I'll return to you." The words were a softly spoken rasp, accompanied by a withered hand pressed weakly against a smooth and ageless cheek.

There were no goodbyes, no declarations of love, or words of any kind, only blue eyes gazing into grey ones for the final time.

When the last breath finally shuddered from the King's elderly lungs and his hand dropped from the face he so lovingly cupped, his Elven lover simply bowed his head in grief.

No tears fell, no anguished cries passed his lips, his face was a frozen mask. But, inside, the Elvenking's heart was shredded, his soul forever changed and his light, dimmed.

Of course, Thranduil had always known this day would come, that his lover would one day pass on into the Hall's of his Forefathers. Being mortal, it had only been a matter of time.

Time.

Time changed everything.

They began as allies. Enemies had followed swiftly on the wings of a dragon and on the back of betrayal. Years later, a tenuous friendship was formed and then built from the ashes of war and grief. And finally, after a time, it ended in a love so deep and profound that not even other's prejudices, mistrust, or disbelief could keep them apart.

Only death had managed that.

 _'I'll return to you.'_ Thorin's promise, his last gift to Thranduil.

And the Elvenking would wait for him, after all, it was only time.

\- O -

The grief was supposed to get easier, but it never did. Only the hope that Thorin would return to this mortal realm kept Thranduil from the madness of despair.

Inevitably, the centuries passed with agonising slowness and the Elvenking saw the countless wars, the endless death, the rise and fall of evil, as mortal souls succumbed; only to conquer, and, in the midst of his grief, he watched the love of others.

Still, he waited.

He waited for Thorin while Middle Earth was changed irrecoverably. As the time of men came and then grew. As other races slowly died out. As all of his kin finally left for the Undying Lands, until, only he remained.

He watched as men forgot about the magic that once ruled Middle Earth, as the tales of Eleven armies, Dwarven craftsmanship, and the horror of orc-filled wars passed on into folklore.

Still, he waited and he watched as time moved ever on. As carriages replaced horses, as cars replaced carriages. As the straw and wooden homes of men became first stone, then brick, then towering tombs of metal and glass. He watched as cities grew and expanded, as populations rose until almost bursting.

Inevitably, as the years passed, Thranduil's hope waned until no more could he stand his grief and loneliness.

After thousands of countless years, the Elvenking no longer watched and he no longer waited. He retreated into his Halls; once full with magic and life, now they lay empty and in ruin. His vastly diminished forest kingdom carefully hidden by his magic from the prying eyes of a modern world.

Lying upon the frayed and moth eaten coverlets of his bed, Thranduil finally gave into his grief and, covering his form with a silken veil, closed his eyes for the last time.

His final thoughts were of Thorin and a solitary tear rolled down his cheek before he fell into an eternal slumber.

\- O -

Thorin Oakenshield felt the desperation tearing at his soul like the sharp point of a knife.

He had been so certain that this time he'd had the right location. But, as he stood with the worn and battered map clutched in his fist, all he saw was the large expanse of water that stretched swollen before him.

Tired and defeated, the former king slumped to his knees upon the uneven ground, glaring listlessly as if he could will the ancient forest of Mirkwood to appear before his eyes. But alas, the lake did not dissolve into any form of dense woodland.

For nigh on two years, Thorin had searched far and wide for his Beloved; scouring old, time-worn maps, countless textbooks on land history, even going as far as to search out rumours and folklore. But so far, his search had been in vein for all around him looked unrecognisable in the face of a modern time and thousands of years worth of shifting earth.

Thorin hadn't always remembered his life as the King Under the Mountain. At first it began with strange dreams that whispered across his mind, the images never quite clear, always hazy with pain, anger and regret. As he'd grown into adulthood, his dreams only intensified, spilling images into his conscious mind of great battles and numbing reality for minutes with their intensity. He'd thought himself going mad. And more so when he found himself with a soul-deep ache that he couldn't place. He'd felt like he was forgetting something, or rather someone. Someone important. The longing this wrought him only grew worse as he began to dream of grey eyes that were endless in their intensity. At the beginning they looked upon him with cool detachment, then scorn and hate, until finally; a love so deep that it stole his breath. Theses dreams haunted him the most, even more so since the face that they belonged to was forever distorted by that accursed haze.

It wasn't until several years later that he'd caught the whip of blonde, almost silver, hair out of the corner of his eye. He'd turned towards the sight without even a conscious thought, and there, standing tall amongst the crowd, was a man of slim bearing and a wealth of long hair just like...

Those grey eyes had flashed in his minds eye and before he'd known it, he had been beside the man, one hand on the stranger's shoulder, spinning him around.

Thorin had only needed a mere moments glance to know that this wasn't the grey eyed man from his dreams. And in his disappointment he'd uttered one word, at that time curiously sad and heartbroken; "Thranduil".

And that had been all it had taken for his memories to open and flood over him like a cascade of water busting it's dam.

The very same day, he'd set out in search of his beloved Elvenking.

Still kneeling on the shores of the lake, Thorin felt hopelessness clench his heart. This place had been his last hope to find Mirkwood, and the most likely.

It was the rumours of this place that had first sparked his hope. People didn't come here, but no one he'd asked could ever give him a definite answer as to why. The only thing that was clear, was that the people of this modern Middle Earth were frightened by the stories of wanderers who never returned from this place. And so, naturally, Thorin had set out in search of it, sure that he would soon be reunited with his love.

Thorin clenched his fists. He had failed, again.

As the minutes passed by, his sadness and anger only grew until he picked up the nearest rock and threw it with all his might towards the water, a cry of anguish torn from his throat.

But the rock never breached the lake's surface, for it hurtled no further than a few mere feet before it disappeared altogether.

Thorin slumped back in his shock, his mouth slack and brows knitted.

After several minutes, in which no bird song was heard, nor the rustling of wind through shrubs or grass, Thorin tentatively stood, scooping up another rock as he did so.

This time, he threw the rock with less force, but it, too, disappeared from sight before it could even ripple the water's surface.

Had Thorin been a wiser, less foolish man, he might have stepped away from the lake, never to return. But, Thorin knew magic when he saw it and, without further preamble, ran headlong towards the lake, his battle-cry following in his wake.

\- O -

Mirkwood was nothing like Thorin remembered. The oppressive darkness that had cloaked the forest before had completely lifted. The proud trees that had once stood tall and grown so close together, now little more than brittle, dried wood with few leaves adorning their branches.

Thorin shifted his weight, the forest's eerie and unnatural stillness causing unease to slither down his spine. Mirkwood no longer felt sick, more than that; it felt dead.

Icy fear gripped the former King's heart and he made sudden haste - dry, dead wood cracking beneath every hurried step.

Thorin refused to dwell on what the state of Thranduil's forest meant for the King himself. Refused to dwell on the thoughts that his Beloved had been alone for these long centuries past, or that he may not be here at all, or that may even be dea-

Thorin shook his head, he couldn't think these thoughts.

For what seemed like hours, Thorin trampled through the remains of Mirkwood, his fear and anxiety growing with each passing minute that he remained separated from the Elvenking.

Finally, finally after was seemed like countless hours, Thorin saw the great doors of the Woodland Realm looming ahead.

With a burst of energy, Thorin lurched forward, running faster, boots pounding against the ground until he reached those intricately carved doors.

Surprisingly, and rather worryingly, the doors opened without much force, the brittle wood snapping and scratching as Thorin pushed them wide.

He paused, chest heaving before his heart was once again gripped by fear. Like the forest, Thranduil's Halls were still and silent, with no sounds of movement or any evidence that elf, man or animal had walked these halls in years.

In a fear induced daze, Thorin walked the familiar paths to his Beloved's personal chambers.

When he reached them, he didn't hesitate, simply pushed the doors open and looked within in fear and bated breath.

The first thing that Thorin's gaze alighted on was Thranduil's bed and a choked, ragged sob was ripped from his throat as he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a prone figure lying beneath a blanket of spun silk.

Thorin lurched into the room, a lump in his throat and heart all but frozen.

On light feet, he approached the bed, a trembling hand reaching out to brush against the cloth, before he fearfully drew it away.

There are no words to describe the sound that tore from Thorin's throat as he looked upon his lover.

Thranduil was just a beautiful and otherworldly as the very first time that Thorin had gazed upon him. His body was hard, yet graceful, with smooth skin the colour of alabaster, and silvery-blonde hair that flowed like water over his shoulders.

But, for all of his beauty, there was no Eldar light held within the pores of his skin, no breath, no warmth, only the unnatural stillness of death.

Thorin wasn't ashamed of his anguished cry as he gently cupped his Beloved's cheek, much the same as he had done so on his deathbed.

"Thranduil." The elf's name slipped passed his lips on a broken whisper and he fell to his knees, defeated once and for all.

Thorin couldn't say how long he knelt beside Thranduil, head bowed, hand still resting on the cold cheek beneath his palm.

"I have failed you." He murmured at last, voice strangled and bound with tears. "I-I made you a promise that I would return to you...but I was too late." Guilt wrecked him and sorrow, frigid like ice, gripped his very soul.

"I do not seek forgiveness for this." He whispered. "I do not deserve it for leaving you alone for so long, but know that I will always love you with everything that I am." And Thorin leant in and pressed his lips against Thranduil's in a gentle kiss filled with all of his love and reverence.

The lips under his were cold and unmoving and Thorin closed his eyes to prevent his tears from escaping.

The movement was subtle at first, so much so that Thorin did not feel it. When it came again however, stronger this time, he froze, thinking it some cruel trick of his mind. But then, when the lips under his moved in earnest, accompanied with the shuddering intake of breath, Thorin's eyes snapped open and he jumped back, almost too afraid to look.

But no, this was no trick of his mind.

His Beloved's lips were slightly parted and a colour dusted his cheeks that hadn't been there before.

Thorin reached one hand forward, afraid to hope, to even think of it.

But before he could touch Thranduil, the Elvenking suddenly drew in a deep lungful of air and the colour resting on his cheeks swept outward, flushing every inch of skin that Thorin could see until his Beloved positively glowed with vitality.

"Thranduil?" Thorin whispered.

The Elvenking's eyes snapped open, and his grey eyes met Thorin's blue ones.

There was a pause before; "Thorin?" the whisper was choked, full of fear and overwhelming hope and Thorin could do no less than to throw himself into his lover's arms and be held in an embrace that was almost crushing, but one that he wouldn't have any other way.

When there lips met again between words of murmured love, both Thranduil and Thorin knew they'd found their happily every after within each other's arms.

 _Fin_


End file.
